“Well, it does hurt pretty tidily, sir.”
“Perhaps so, Dale, but not to the extent it would under those circumstances. There, I’m better now. Help me to sit up.” I helped him, and he turned ghastly.
“Feel faint, sir?” I said.
“Horrible, Dale, but I will master it. This is no time for giving way like a young lady in a hot room. There, that’s better. Nothing like making a fight for it. Come.”
“Oh no; I’m not very much hurt, sir,” I cried. “Wait till you are easier.”
“Come closer,” he said firmly. “Off with your jacket, and open the neck of your shirt.”
I obeyed him unwillingly, and making another determined effort to master the faintness from which he suffered, he carefully examined my chest and side, giving me such intense pain the while that I too felt sick, and would gladly have prescribed for myself a draught of the medicine he had taken.
“There,” he cried at last, “that’s perfectly satisfactory. No ribs broken, Dale, but you had a tremendous blow there from the nearest box. It’s a wonder that we were not killed.”
“Then I shan’t want strapping or bandaging, sir?”
“No; I’ll give you some arnica to bathe the place with. You’ll have some terrible bruises all up your side, but that will be all. Now then, my lad, that we have repaired damages, the next thing is to see what we can do for other people.”